


An exchange of words

by qBox



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Arguing, M/M, Minor Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Other, Unrequited Crush, Unresolved Romantic Tension, panicked planning attempts, surprise visit, takes place between seasons 2 and 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 21:08:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8301116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qBox/pseuds/qBox
Summary: The visit should have been expected at this point, and Jim Gordon should have rejected him at the door.





	

"Good evening, Jim."

The sharp tone on his name was ever so off-putting, and James Gordon rolled his eyes almost unconsciously in response, immediately regretting his actions. He should have peeked before he opened the door; hell, he knew he probably shouldn’t open it as thoughtlessly as he usually did. It was Gotham, after all. The night made the city behind his visitor impenetrably dark, but the neon, street and window lights lit his thin face and the wide smile it had contorted into.

Before Jim could muster a single word, Oswald Cobblepot strode into his mess of an apartment as gracefully as his limp allowed him, clearly eyeing the cartons of takeout and bullets strewn and mixed with empty bottles of scotch on top of the coffee table. He was making a show of judging the place, really.

"What do you want, _Penguin_?" Jim asked, putting emphasis on the name that he knew Oswald had once despised. Perhaps, still, a part of him did, despite him insisting the opposite by using it himself - Jim noticed the tells of his cheeks growing taut and strained below the smile that remained plastered onto his lips. Annoyance. Frustration.

"A simple greeting would have sufficed", the short man said however, in a tone that was almost leisurely, picking up a takeaway Chinese food box and inspecting it.

Recognizing the overly friendly tone as another sign that pointed to the opposite of pleased, Jim ground his teeth.

"Hi", he said between them and snatched the box out of Oswald’s hand before heading to the kitchen area with it. The trashcan he disposed of it into was already full to the brim. "Now, what do you want?"

"Oh, I just supposed I have not checked in with you in a while. Not that it I need to, really, I mean, the rumors travel far ahead of you."

Jim stared almost blankly into the sink, heard the scraping limp come to a stop just as Oswald ceased to speak. Rumors? Which ones were running wild this time? He had no police honor to uphold anymore, and it couldn't be Galavan again. No, this time Galavan had truly been blown into pieces by Butch Gilzean – or as the police had said, by someone unidentified. So, what was it?

He felt his hands tense and opened up the cupboard, pulling one of the last clean few glasses out.

Poured up water.

Thought about what to say.

"What rumors?" he eventually responded, and there was a deep sigh as if Oswald had kept himself from breathing out until then. The exhale ended in a cheerful chuckle, doubtlessly pleased that Jim allowed the conversation to continue.

"Of your bounty hunting, of course", he smiled, and Jim realized that rumors didn't necessarily have to be damaging ones – not even in Gotham. He had almost forgotten. "Fish Mooney has a friendly family of monsters, and Jim Gordon disposing of one after another while the GCPD sits back in hesitation. As per usual, I regret to stress."

"They're doing their part", Jim contradicted him, but only halfheartedly, and turned just in time to see the sarcastic shrug. The mobster wasn't wrong, and they both knew it. "But yes. What of it?"

"One has to wonder… If all you're in for is the prize money, why settle for the limited access your lack of badge allows you?"

Oswald had stopped halfway to the kitchen, leaning heavily on that cane as if it was holding his entire self together. Jim wondered if maybe it did, despite the smile and the glow in his eyes. But it was the words that he got hung up on, not the state of his being. The stare Jim had gotten used to, God help him.

"Do you want me to go back to being a cop?" he answered in disbelief. Harvey he’d understood, asking for his returned company – especially since the man returned to the position himself once. Some of the other cops he could understand asking him too, when the majority of Strange's patented monstrosities were brought in by Gordon by himself instead of the GCPD.

But they were cops. The Penguin was a criminal. He shouldn't want to create more cops on the streets, right? But he also had constantly been Jim's informant – and having a contact in the GCPD, albeit one ever so hesitant, was probably helpful for one of his position. Who knew how many contacts Falcone had had?

"No, Jim, _oh_." Oswald laughed, a childish giggle that fell like pearls on the tense silence between them, and he even took a few steps closer. Jim watched him from behind his glass as he emptied its content into his gullet. "That would be counter to your current situation and needs, wouldn't it?"

Jim nearly growled.

"The hell do you know about my needs?" he muttered, wishing again that he had looked before opening that door, and that he'd made sure that Oswald Cobblepot had been sent back to Arkham… and that one cold day on a pier, a long time ago, a bullet had driven through the man’s scheming skull rather than past it.

"Gotham's golden boy, fallen from grace and not even attempting to climb up this time?" Oswald tutted gently and stepped up closer to the counter, his worse leg's foot gently continuing to scrape against the floorboards as he walked. "How could I not be intrigued? And you know me, information is my bread and butter, and yet, there are holes in this story. Something must have happened, right? Something to break your faith in the system you thought you could reinforce even in such a definite grey-zone like Gotham."

He leaned against the edge and stared up at Jim, who at once felt both hot with anger and cold with anxiety as he was made to recall what he had purposefully avoided to the best of his ability.

Cobblepot continued, a heartfelt sincerity in his voice that Jim couldn't bring himself to believe in.

"I know about what happened to Dr. Thompson during our separate incarcerations, and again, my utmost condolences. But given that, and the fact that she is to my knowledge still alive, yet you remain by your lonesome in a _bachelor flat_ , I would suspect you never reconciled after that whole Blackgate incident. Or that something made it all worse."

It had, Jim knew. Both the suggestions were correct, and both were due to actions that he himself was to blame for. His mind was full of _ifs_. If he hadn't looked into the window, if he hadn't waited for so long, if he hadn't told her to forget.

_If I hadn't listened to the Penguin_ , his mind filled in, bitterly. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, noting Oswald following his movements with his piercing gaze.

"I went to locate her, but..."

His voice fizzled out. He hadn't told anyone about exactly what had happened, and it was hard to find the strength. If he were to say it, wouldn't that make it all feel so much more real? So much more final?

Oswald remained unaffected by his reluctance.

"Oh", he hummed, turning his upper body and eyes away, and nearly perused the rows of half-finished bottles by the sink. "I see, and she was not well? Or, the reconciliation was not an easy feat to overcome? Did you not bring enough flowers to warrant such a _brusque_ farewell?"

By the last question Jim could feel the eyes on him again, scrutinizing, dangerous. Anger-inducing.

"I had enough flowers", he snapped back. "But I didn't get to talk to her. She--- I didn't want to ruin her new life with whatever bad memories I brought-"

" _Cut_ the bullshit, _James_." Oswald's voice raised in pitch and volume both, the man pinching his eyes shut as if his patience was running low. What he was waiting for, Jim couldn't fathom for the life of him. "What happened? For years, Gotham never managed to break you. Did she find out something you hadn't told her? Something you're trying to undo?"

"She had someone new."

The words fell out of his mouth as if Oswald had pulled them out like beads on a string. The silence that followed was deafening, and Jim felt his blood oddly curdle as the mobster's lips grew tight, his stance tensing.

They stood in such silence for several minutes, again, their breaths the only thing audible over the ticking of a clock and the nightly traffic outside.

"I am disappointed in you, Jim Gordon", Oswald finally said, with clarity and emphasis on each word.

"What?!"

Jim turned to face him, planning to hit him in the face if the other were to do anything even remotely aggressive. But when the still thin creature stepped up closer and glared (absolutely _glared_ ) him right in the face, he froze. His shirt was swiftly caught in a hard grip by bony hands, eyes as icy as the Gotham River meeting his own. Jim momentarily found himself wondering if some part of Oswald Cobblepot still rested on the bottom of it, somewhere outside that pier.

"All of this moping and refusal to get back to normalcy, over a _broken heart_." Oswald's voice was hard, the smile replaced by a scowl. "It is a little unlike you, don't you think? The man who found another woman shortly after being left by the hypothesized _love of his life_. The same man who shot someone in cold blood, and then quickly – effectively – returned to his work to cover it up _right after_ \--"

Jim couldn't listen to it anymore, the anger he'd harbored about the situation sounding more and more childishly petulant with each passing word. Then, the mention of Barbara and of Galavan. Of things he didn't want to be mentioned, or worse, overheard.

"Listen-" he began, but Oswald took an unstable step closer, held harder onto Jim’s shirt, watching him intently, almost sternly.

"You have been playing this half-hearted pretend-game of victimization and vigilantism since the breakout - probably since before that if I know you correctly. And we _would_ know each other _rather well_ by now wouldn't we? Hmm? She's still alive, is she not?" He paused, inhaling deeply and Jim saw something flicker in his eye but for a moment. " _She_ is alive and free to make her own choices, in regards to you and anything else. Meanwhile, _you_ remain here loitering in your own pathetic waste, moping and thinking you are proving something to her by singlehandedly taking on the enemy with little to no proper gear. _Meanwhile_ , I have a metaphorical gun to my back and while you are most definitely helping to shorten the amount of bullets within it, you certainly could do a _little better_."

Then he let go, stepping back again with his lower jaw pushed out in defiance to whatever Jim would retort with. Jim put the glass down, loudly.

"And how am I supposed to do that?" he hissed back, and he had to force himself to keep the volume down. This was not for his neighbors to hear any part of. "Going back to GCPD is idiotic, there is no time to wait around for the paperwork--"

Oswald waved his concerns away with the flick of his wrist and a roll of his eyes.

"Again, unimportant. But I agree. The GCPD clearly can't manage this city even with your assistance. However, maybe you can, with that of others’."

Jim then realized that he had forgotten to consider all sides of the coin. Of course the Penguin didn't need him as part of the police corps - he wanted Jim to work for _him_. As a detective, Jim had forced himself to stay on the right side of the law, no matter how much it frustrated him and gnawed in his muscles to do so at times by the end. Logically, Oswald had taken note of his current (and definitely more bordering on lawless) profession, and seen it closer within his grasp.

He was right, too, and that made it worse. James Gordon was hiding, despite trying to convince himself he had moved on.

Jim groaned - why couldn't Oswald Cobblepot just leave him be?

"Why do you need me?" he asked, sourly, and passed Oswald by on his way out of the kitchen, unsure where to place himself once he did. "You've got access to all the criminal underworld. Hell, don't you own the place that-" ( _he absolutely needed no break before the name he was about to mention_ ) "-Barbara and Galavan’s sister have? That woman, the sister, she's basically an assassin, ask her."

"Jim, no!" Oswald's voice was high in pitch and when Jim looked back towards him he was trembling with rage. "She put a knife in my mother's back! How on earth would I trust her with my own?!"

Basically spitting his words, the Penguin balled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw, shaking his head. His eyes were wet, like so often. Fair enough, Jim supposed that that made sense. He wouldn't have counted on Tabitha Galavan either - especially given her apparent relationship with Barbara.

Nothing that hung around Barbara was a solid basis for any kind of credence.

"But you trust _me_?" he asked, incredulously. Given his own recent months of misbehavior (according to the GCPD, at least), that seemed like a terribly ill-advised choice of action.

He met Oswald's gaze to look for any hint of irony, and immediately wished he hadn't. Behind the hard, pale irises, there was a nearly painful softness that Jim definitely wasn’t ready to either recognize or label.

"No matter what you think of yourself, you are still a man with morals, Jim", Oswald said, smiling that furious smile he always forced when he tried to keep his face unaffected. "If you allow me to be your benefactor, I am certain you will carry on your ... _work_ , with flying colors. And besides, have I not saved your hide at least a dozen times?"

Great, so he was going to chalk it down to guilt tripping? To repayment? Jim groaned under his breath. Sure, Oswald had come around as a saving grace at multiple occasions - from that time Jim was to be arrested for his supposed murder, to the time he and Gilzean arrived to finish Galavan off. But it had always been with a stern no thanks necessary, and Jim, acutely discomforted by his presence, had been ever pleased to oblige.

_That's what friends do, Jim._

"I won't work for you", he pushed out through his teeth, crossing his arms and widening his stance. If he couldn't feel balanced, he could at least look the part.

"I do not ask that of you, either. Not directly", Oswald ensured him, a more honest smile coming back in nervous twitches. "With is the word I would use. I count on you to hunt down the monsters and their makers, and in return, I am your benefactor. Information, assistance. Bullets. Anything you require. After all, you are my--" The smile fell abruptly and for a moment he hesitated, looking almost frightened. It was, however, only that moment. "...you are _you_."

_'You are my friend'_ hung like an unspoken spell in the air between them, unfinished and unreciprocated. Somehow, the fact that Oswald wouldn't state it as an indisputable fact this time the way he always used to, made Jim's throat tighten and spread an uncomfortably cold weight throughout his limbs.

He was certain there was more than one reason for the anxiety. Security, however, was definitely the most important factor. If he was no longer seen as a friend by the mobster that ran Gotham, he could be in true danger, what with their shared background, the things Jim knew. At Blackgate, he had suffered the effect of pissing off an influential man, and shuddered at the idea of it occurring again.

But it was frustrating.

It had _always_ been frustrating discussing anything with Oswald Cobblepot, crossing differing opinions at each topic. He never knew where he had him - and he remembered the last time he had exchanged favors with the man with a cringe. At least, Jim realized, not for the first time, he was the one who often insisted on quarrelling - but the Penguin was _dangerous_...

And yet, Jim had allowed him into his home.

He let the topic go, unsure of whether they really were as far from friends as Jim wanted to believe they were. Instead, he moved on, stiff and stressed and with a need to refocus his thoughts.

"Why are you so sure Mooney is around, anyway?" he asked with heat - _that_ certainly was something he had issues believing. For such a long, long time, no sources had seen her, and Penguin himself had once claimed her death to be a certainty.

The same did not seem terribly appreciative of his doubts.

"Because I met her!" he spat, and his voice almost cracked in the middle of the sentence. "Butch did, too! And, you have seen the other monsters she leads, and all of the fantastic abilities the good doctor equipped them with! He brought back Galavan, too, he is perfectly capable to do so. And yet, you don’t believe me when I tell you she was _right there_? Why?!"

"Because you are not a trustworthy person!" Jim growled back, realizing only afterwards how loud he'd let himself become. His neighbors, the curious jerks, wouldn't even need to put a glass to the floor to hear any better. Fuck.

"When throughout our acquaintance have I ever lied to _you_?!" Oswald's voice was a hiss and his eyes were dark with hurt and irritation. " _When_ , Jim Gordon."

Jim wanted to give examples, to lend him a long list of times where Oswald Cobblepot's schemes had put him in actual trouble, and there were several - but though he ransacked his brain, it remained nearly empty of lies.

Oswald had told Jim about his presence in Gotham while the lie surrounding his death was still unknown to everyone else – even the mother he treasured so dearly. He had told him so much – and hardly ever had he straight-out lied. At worst, he had withheld the whole truth and only shared bits and pieces, but he had still shared.

Right then, the only time where Jim could recall an obvious lie from was in that alley behind Fish Mooney's, with the man that had been violently struck by a metal bat - and that was such a confusing situation that he wasn't sure if it counted.

"Well?" the Penguin asked pointedly, his hands resting heavily on the cane, the better leg's hip angling his stance. It was a confident look, and Jim hated it. He also hated that at closer inspection it didn't sound too terrible of an idea - few wanted to sell information or proper cartridges to him for a decent price anyway, given the fame to his name and prior occupation. The GCPD mainly just handled his wages.

He sighed, rubbing his temples.

"Say I choose to side with you on this one", he finally muttered, and almost heard the man's face light up. "What do you need from me? I don't have access to all the GCPD sources, not anymore. Hell, I only have Harvey, and that's a thin string given Barnes' eagle eyes."

Not to mention that while he was ever grateful to Harvey's continuous assistance, he wasn't sure if his friend would want to risk helping, if he knew who Jim was associating with again. Hell, Jim wasn’t sure if he wanted to let Harvey risk it.

Oswald dismissively waved his words away again, and the small upwards twitch of his lips made Jim terribly unsettled.

"What I mean to say is: what's the catch?" he asked instead. There was always a catch, wasn't there? He'd have to do something he wasn't necessarily prepared to do, another bad thing to add to the list.

"Arkham", Oswald said, shuffling closer. He sounded more upbeat, the high pitch exchanged for the more normally exaggerated joviality. "There are still patients being kept there, and the police has ceased their control of the place, so the remaining doctors are free to carry on Strange's handiwork on them. Some might be of use for Mooney and her goons. You are aware that they have been stealing prescription medicines, yes? Large quantities. My sources say-"

As soon as the asylum was mentioned, Jim felt uncertainty gnaw at his gut. He would rather never return there if he could avoid it, but he really would have considered the same for Oswald. The man had insisted that he was tortured there, what felt like ages ago. Jim had ignored it, let it happen, all too fitting to the guise of animosity they'd built up back then. He had barely even cared.

_Why do you still think of me as a friend anyway, Cobblepot?_

Was he still bitter about that?

"It's some sort of suppressant or other for whatever Strange did to them, isn't it?", he interrupted. "I heard. So, what about Arkham?"

It was the important part anyway, was it not? He'd have to know if he could muster to do the one bad thing, so that he could continue doing good afterwards. A favor for a favor.

"They might continue with the patients", Oswald said hesitantly, as if he was unsure whether it was safe to speak about such matters. "It's Arkham, after all – someone could easily pick up where Strange left off, despite the GCPD's best efforts. Ship the patients off somewhere for further experimentation else-place."

"And you care, why?"

Oswald looked at him as if he was an imbecile, face frozen somewhere between the serious concern and a smile of mockery.

"Have you even seen them, Jim?" he asked, limping closer - while Jim remained in his position. "You have been catching them, so you must have, or I would be definitely impressed! The fact that Fish is at all alive is beyond sanity. I need the possibility for an increased amount of them removed."

Jim could hardly believe the man. Sure, he had already broken into the asylum once, but that hadn't turned out too well, had it? It was - quite fittingly - an insane undertaking.

"I can't take down Arkham all by myself, Penguin!" he protested, shoving him out of the way as if planning to leave. However as the man stumbled Jim remained frozen, hearing the clattering of the cane landing at his floor. "After last time it wouldn't be possible, especially not without the GCPD behind my back!"

The smaller man's nostrils flared in a quiet huff as he regained his balance without the assisting cane, but he kept his eyes downturned under the furrowed brow. It was suspicious, enough to bring a streak of worry and concern to Jim’s mind. There was something that wasn’t being mentioned.

Jim quickly grabbed the lapels of Oswald's expensive coat, pulling him close enough to meet his eyes, almost lifting him off the floor in the process. There was little to no weight to him, and despite him looking decidedly less skinny than he had last time they met, Jim still felt as if could throw him around like a cloth doll.

"This isn't just for the sake of the greater good, is it? How do you benefit?" he hissed, almost close enough to press their foreheads together. There was the familiar fear in his eyes and in the skin growing ever paler, the one Jim had seen enough to know was hardly just a play. He opened and closed his mouth several times (like the proverbial fish he had dethroned) before his facial features finally grew taut and strained.

"...A dear friend of mine is in that place, Jim", he explained, breathlessly gripping for Jim's wrists. "Over any of the other patients, I need him free and away from whatever their experiments could be, by any means necessary. Jim, you must understand."

A dear friend? Jim tightened his grip around the lapels, the smooth cloth wrinkling probably beyond repair in his grip. Why was it so easy for him to say that about this person, whoever it was, when he no longer did about Jim himself? He hadn't figured the Penguin for a man to have a lot of friends (if any) given his general two-facedness.

And worse, he hadn’t expected that it would affect him.

Oswald's eyes widened, and his tongue flicked out across his lips to wet them, but whatever anger Jim would have expected over the wrinkled coat shone with its absence.

"B-besides, it's not a case of going in guns a-blazing; it needs some well thought-out planning. More of a case of convincing and clever digging than anything else", he stuttered instead, but Jim wouldn't hear it.

"You are aware that the patients in there are there for a reason, right?" he asked, almost shaking him by now, the sound of the shoes scraping against the floor seeming louder than it should have been. "Your friend's probably as mad as the rest of them."

There it was. The annoyance flickered back into his panicked eyes and he let out a loud sigh, almost a groan.

"That is beyond the point, _Jim_ ”, he said between his teeth. “I owe this man my life, and I can't bear the thought of similar therapy-" ( _torture_ , Jim's mind interjected with a snap of guilt) "-that befell me should be used on him. Worse is to consider him becoming a part of their _experiments_. No, if this is the time for honesty--"

"Who?" Jim asked, tired of playing around the subject. Another to whom Oswald Cobblepot owed his life? They seemed to have increased in amount from one to a solid two, he bitterly thought. What a strange way to make friends.

Not that he had often seen Oswald friendly with that many people, save for— _Oh no_.

Jim distinctively recalled the sound of music and oddly elated singing and the crime lord in the apartment that belonged to the forensic riddler, and felt his stomach sink.

His arms did too, letting Oswald stand fully on his own feet again.

"... Nygma", he stated matter-of-factly, and when Oswald only blinked in surprise with no vocal negation he knew it had to be the truth. " _Nygma_ is your friend."

Somehow knowing did nothing to calm him down.

"You want me to free that riddling madman for you? His actions put me in Blackgate! He- Lee--! He killed three people!"

Oswald, his jaw visibly tight, corrected his clothes to the best of his ability.

"Better for that than for everyone to learn about Galavan, right?" he asked, his voice hushed but sharp under red eyes, nose and cheeks. Whether he was embarrassed, stressed or angry, Jim couldn't quite tell from the face alone, but he had an uncomfortable feeling that he _knew_. "Listen, in return whatever supplies you are currently having issues obtaining, any information needed, are yours. One small favor for another big one, yes?"

There was something like desperation in the trembling of his voice - a man who prided himself on his intellect standing with certainty, without obvious plans to act upon. And Jim, though he would rather punch him in those poorly kept teeth, found himself believing in the act. He hoped to the heavens that it was in fact not an act.

"How do I know this is not a setup?" he asked, covering up his hesitation with suspicion and crossed arms.

"You can trust me on this, Jim", Oswald responded, his voice still doing the shaky thing that Jim couldn't distinguish as anything but fear or worry.

"How can I?" Jim muttered. "You lie to everyone."

"Not to you."

There it was again.

"Prove it then", Jim spat out, and watched Oswald’s gaze lift in surprise. Heck, if this was how it was going to be, he might as well use whatever it was that caused Penguin to seek out his assistance. "You once promised not to shield the truth from me, and now you promise again, so give me a truth you haven't admitted to yet. Don't I deserve that, at the very least?"

The guilt-struck look upon his guest's face told Jim that he had managed to prod at a sensitive nerve. Jim, too, could guilt trip if he so desired.

Oswald pulled his lower lip into his mouth, chewing at it absently as his eyes began darting around the room. And then, as quickly as he'd begun, he closed them with a deep sigh.

"...Ask away."

Jim wasn't sure if the feeling in his gut was one from regular nausea or from actually feeling bad about it all. But he had started it, so he might as well ask - even though he suspected the answer.

"Was it from you Nygma heard about Galavan?" Jim watched his guest as he let the silence after the question drag out, the slight tenseness to Oswald's limbs enough to convince him. He sighed, deeply - a groan, really. "He said you had betrayed his trust but given his actions afterwards and your current... affection towards the nut I suspect that was a lie."

"Oh, quit calling him names", Oswald bit back. "He doesn't--"

"Oswald." The name came out like a snap, interrupting the thin man's incoming ramble. Oswald looked up at him in surprise, eyes large and wet. Why did he always have to cry so easily? Didn't he know how hard it was for Jim to watch? "The truth."

The eye roll was instant and Oswald clumsily bent down to pick his cane back up.

"... Yes", he answered finally. "I hid at his place for a bit after Galavan, and I informed him what happened, friends as we are. But that is where we parted until I was brought into captivity."

Jim felt the fire of unease and fury crawl up his skin, and he took a step closer to the other again.

"I thought we _agreed_ \--", he barked out a little too loud before stopping himself and trying again in a hiss. "I thought we agreed not to tell _anyone_..!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jim", Penguin said, resting his weight on the cane again, albeit taking a step back as he did. "As if you didn't discuss it with Bullock afterwards, and your girlfriend. For your own peace of mind, you shared, didn’t you?"

And that was true, of course. Jim had been unable to avoid sharing the events of that night with those closest to him, but he had never thought that Oswald needed anyone to let that truth out to. And whoever he would have chosen, Jim wasn't sure if he trusted his trust in people.

He also couldn't trust that his own safety wouldn't be compromised with Edward Nygma on the run, or the safety of his brothers at the police department.

So he shook his head to interrupt the heavy silence that had fallen between them, his lack of sources and answers to save the city standing against releasing the man who'd ingeniously ruined his life for months.

"No", he finally spat out. "I won't do it. Nygma's killed three people, he went mad - or maybe he always was and just hid it really well. Either way, until declared sane, he's a dangerous man."

"Jim, please." Both words were low and full of held back anger that had the entirety of his small body tremble. Jim wasn't finished.

"And don't think I don't know _you_ are too. Hell, declared sane or not, I doubt you haven't resumed your attempts to control the city. I'm neither blind nor deaf, you know."

Oswald's lips curled into a tense frown, and he straightened his back as if that's make him look taller than his measly height.

"James Gordon", he said overly smoothly as if it was just a jovial exchange of words, "if you’re not willing to commit to your side of the bargain, I do not feel too inclined to be your benefactor."

Of course, that was where the problem was - Jim would have gladly received any help he could have at this point. But what about the cost? It wasn't worth it, was it?

"I'll get by fine", he muttered.

"But-"

"I'll get by _fine_."

And then they remained in standstill, an unarmed Mexican standoff where eyes and words were their only weapons of choice. He could see the hurt in Oswald's, the desperate loneliness. The disappointment. The anger.

Then the mobster closed the distance between them and pulled something out of his pocket. Quickly, Jim caught his wrist in an iron grip, expecting something like a knife to be there. He almost wanted there to be, wanted the other to do something he could hold against him.

But, it was just a paper card, and Oswald looked up at him with something like amusement mixed into the emotions he was trying to hide.

"My number", he said as Jim let his hands go again. He pressed the card into the palm of Jim's hand, his fingers lingering at his skin only for a moment, then turned to hurriedly waddle towards the door, continuing to speak over his shoulder. "In case you change your mind, or if you decide for certain. Do think it over at least, will you?"

Honestly, Jim was startled by the quick turn of events, and while he was relieved not to have to keep the discussion up anymore, something annoying familiar to guilt gnawed at his ribs.

It would work out so much better, if he could be backed up by someone. He was fighting a war after all, and he was alone. But could he really live with that someone being the Penguin? And what he asked of him? No matter how it would have been done, he couldn't just free a criminally insane man from the safety of Arkham, could he?

_It's torture, Jim Gordon._

"Oh, and..." Oswald said at the door, his hand on the handle. "Like me, you probably should make sure to keep your back safe too, because while I remember Fish Mooney forgiving your partner for his faults, he was clearly the only one she thought to do that to."

Then he left, the door closing behind him, and Jim gaped. He hadn't expected advice after such a heated discussion, but it was the Penguin after all. Quick to turn, three steps ahead. He really shouldn't have ever trusted him on any level - and yet he had, so often.

He stared at the card in his hand, realizing that it wasn't the ones with his standard umbrella insignia, but instead a torn-out piece of paper, a phone number quickly scribbled down on it. And under the number was the single word _‘Whenever’_.

It was personal.

It was a promise.

But Ed Nygma had caused Jim’s stay at Blackwell, had killed three people on the GCPD station. Before that, Jim had thought that if not friends, they at least got along just fine. Oswald Cobblepot was likely the cause of multiple killings himself - and he thought of Jim as a friend. At least, Jim pondered as he stared at his own reflection in the window once Cobblepot was long since gone, it seemed like he still did.

And then there was Jim, whose list of deaths caused was mostly filled up in the line of duty – except for that one night, when he and Oswald killed Galavan. _Friends_.

_We are all guilty,_ he thought bitterly and took to alcohol for a few hours. He didn't know what to do, but the thoughts ran around his head, hopping from one place to another like bunnies.

On the one hand, he could continue in the loneliness he had brought upon himself, unassisted but, and this he laughed at himself for calling it, with his conscience clear. On the other hand, a friend in the dark hadn't sounded like as much of a comfort for ages as it did right now.

Release one bad man to catch the monsters. Do one bad thing to continue doing good.

He only really decided once the familiar click of an answered phone echoed in his ear.

"Good evening, Jim", said Oswald Cobblepot on the other side of the call.

And Jim gave him his answer.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hi, hello!  
> Hope you've enjoyed the journey down here. Feel free to comment what you thought of it! ...or if there was anything you noticed. English is not my first language, so sometimes I'm afraid I might not use the correct words.  
> I'm afraid, also, that I don't have the character's voices fully there yet, but it was fun to work with them anyway, haha. Let's hope further practice helps?


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